My husband shoved me, shattering the bathroom mirror. His mother sneered, “Clean up this disgusting mess.” But as I fell, my husband roared, “What’s in your pocket?!” The red LED of my federal distress fob pulsed. Denied the third click, I threw myself onto the broken glass, and…

the dried blood on my face and the fresh blood soaking the towel on my hand.

For one agonizing microsecond, the professional agent slipped, and I saw pure, unadulterated older-brother rage flare in Marcus’s eyes. Then, the training took over. He held his weapon at the high ready, aiming directly at the sliver of Vance’s face visible behind my head.continue reading …